The First Time
by GreenEyesGreySkies
Summary: The few times that Harry Potter has ever seen Draco Malfoy cry, and what he does about it. Almost a Christmas one-shot. Almost, I said! AU.


**Author's Note: Taking a brief break from studying for finals (or not studying), I decided to write this in honor of the fact that it's almost Christmas! It's not a terribly festive one-shot, however, so I don't know how 'Christmas' this truly is. Maybe I should write a new and improved mistletoe one-shot.**

**Disclaimer: Okay, fine, I do not own these characters. Do you have to remind me every time? **

The first time Harry had ever seen Draco Malfoy cry had been in the middle of his Sixth year at Hogwarts.

It had been a complete accident. He was only following Malfoy because he had thought the Slytherin had been up to no good, which, of course, was a completely plausible notion at the time. What else was he supposed to think? Anything involving Malfoy had always been bad news. But as Harry snuck through the door of the abandoned bathroom, he hadn't found Malfoy plotting any sick demises or evil curses like he had imagined he'd see. Instead, Malfoy had been hunched over a sink, his body shaking violently, and his pointy face ghostly pale. His jumper was rumpled and his hair was scattered about in a way that had made Harry freeze in his tracks and frown with concern.

By then, Harry had been itching to turn around and leave, suddenly uncomfortable with the foreign situation. He hadn't realised that Malfoy was even capable of crying; seeing it had been like a slap to the face. But before Harry could make a move, Malfoy had seen him and whirled around to hex him into oblivion, clearly mortified and furious that Harry had caught him, and Harry retaliated as best as he could.

And that's where things had gotten out of hand. By the time it was over, Harry felt a million times worse, which was odd, because he had never thought he would ever feel bad for Draco Malfoy.

**~x~**

The second time Harry had ever seen Draco Malfoy cry had been at Narcissa Malfoy's funeral.

Harry hadn't meant to see it that time, either. He had been under his cloak the entire time, hidden behind a distant tree to watch the event. Of course, he hadn't planned on attending the funeral, but he had seen the news in the Prophet earlier that day and had decided, on a whim, to pay his respects. He hadn't forgotten that the woman had saved his life, and inadvertently helped him win the war. He had at least owed her that much.

Malfoy was standing away from the event as well. Harry hadn't noticed him there, a few trees away, until he heard a thinly disguised sniffle and turned around in alarm. Malfoy's eyes were red and puffy, as if he hadn't gotten any sleep for a while, although the rest of his demeanor was flawless as usual. Lucius had died only a few weeks prior to Narcissa, and Harry had had a flash of camaraderie when he realised that Malfoy didn't have any parents anymore either.

It was that thought that had prompted Harry to silently conjure a single white rose and step out from behind the tree, still cloaked, to place it on the ground by Malfoy's feet.

"Sorry," he'd muttered softly, backing away from his old rival as he spoke.

Malfoy looked down at the flower. Then he looked back up, gazing at the air where Harry stood for a few moments, and gave a sharp nod. He picked the rose up, cast a quick Glamour charm on himself to conceal his state, and then stalked back towards the funeral as if nothing had happened.

Harry hadn't known whether or not Malfoy knew he was there, or if he even knew that anybody had been there. He remembered thinking that it would be a mystery forever.

**~x~ **

The third time Harry had ever seen Draco Malfoy cry had been two weeks after they had both gone back to Hogwarts in place of their Seventh year.

Maybe Harry had been looking out for Malfoy then, but only because he had to make sure that the other students weren't going to kill him. Malfoy wasn't very well-liked, as it would be assumed, after coming back to school post-war. Harry shouldn't have liked him either. But he couldn't stop thinking about Malfoy and how he had cried two years ago in the bathroom and how he had saved Harry at the Manor and how he had lost both of his parents in the course of a month. And so, Harry had to look out for him. He had to.

It was after Quidditch practice and Harry had been early to the locker rooms to change when he heard it again: the quiet sobs coming from nowhere, the light gasps and shuddering sighs. By then, Harry could recognise it, and he'd peeked around one of the shower walls carefully to find the source of the noise. Malfoy's back had been to Harry, but he was curled up in a ball and Harry could see heavy bruises on the Slytherin's forearms, which held him up in a sitting position.

By instinct, Harry had taken a step forward, and Malfoy turned around at the noise, his eyes piercing red and empty again. For a moment Harry had expected Malfoy to get up and curse him angrily for catching him like that, like he had done so long ago, but the boy did no such thing. He only stared at Harry's chest, a flicker of some kind of emotion in his gaunt expression. And he wouldn't look Harry in the eye.

Silently, Harry had taken out his wand, and Malfoy flinched as if he expected Harry to hex him. Harry had been careful to approach him in a gentle manner, slowly pressing the tip to Malfoy's bruises to heal them with quick muttered spells. When he had come closer, he'd seen the blood around Malfoy's mouth and the cuts lining his hairline and trailing down his neck. It had been almost barbaric. With a clenched jaw, Harry had healed those as well. After he was finished, Malfoy stared at the fading wounds for a long time, and then looked back up at Harry. Their eyes met briefly before Malfoy jerked away, as he was tearing up again.

Then Harry touched Malfoy's arm faintly and the Slytherin's whole body shook; obviously the contact was too much for him. Harry had pursed his lips in an attempt not to blow up right there. He hated that Malfoy was getting bullied like this. Did he deserve it? Maybe. Was it right? Of course not. Malfoy was a human being too. Harry was slowly realising that, after so many years.

After a noise and the sudden flurry of activity at the door, Harry had realised that his team was finally arriving to get changed. Malfoy had heard it too, and thus shriveled back towards the shower wall, quivering a little, glaring down at the floor with unprompted indignation.

"Oi, Harry! You in here?" Harry had heard one of his teammates yell.

Harry had stood up immediately, brushing off his hands. "Yeah, yeah, just a minute," he'd shouted back.

He'd grabbed his satchel and pulled out his trusty cloak, throwing it at Malfoy before the other boy could protest. "Here, this'll get you back to Slytherin without anyone seeing you," he muttered under his breath, picking up his gear and backing away. "They'll be out of here in about five minutes, just keep quiet until then."

Malfoy had nodded and picked up the cloak in his hands, eyeing it curiously. Harry sighed and turned away to leave, but a small voice had stopped him before he could.

"I'm sorry," Malfoy uttered, with unfamiliar quietness.

Harry hadn't known whether Malfoy was apologising for taking the cloak or for generally everything that he had ever done, or even for something else, but he'd accepted it readily. It had been the most sincere thing Malfoy had ever said to him. Harry nodded back and left the showers to go change with his teammates, and a few hours later, a school owl had brought him a package containing his own cloak in it. Attached to the package, there was note written in Malfoy's tiny, neat script.

'Roses were my mum's favourite', it had read. That was all.

**~x~**

Now, it was Christmas Eve.

Harry had been looking for Malfoy at the 'Interhouse Unity' Christmas party with false hope, as he hadn't truly expected the other boy to attend it but divulged in the activity anyways. After an hour of fruitless attempts, Harry had left his friends to their own fun and wandered into the courtyard to sit on a bench and stare at the night sky, wondering what had become of his mind.

And it was here that he sat, remembering each time he had found Draco Malfoy crying. Why did he keep doing this? As he gazed up at the moon, he couldn't help but see Malfoy's glowing silver eyes gazing back, an expression of curiosity and infinite wonder etching his pale face, an expression that Harry hadn't seen in a long time. He frowned. Why was this all so important?

Harry was suddenly snapped out of his thoughts when he heard someone clearing his throat beside him, and he looked up to find Malfoy himself standing there, gazing down at him as if he had been there for quite a while. Harry looked back at him and Malfoy sat down then, shifting his eyes away and clearing his throat again.

"Why aren't you at the party?" Harry asked finally, after Malfoy had failed to say anything.

"I didn't feel like it," Malfoy responded simply. Then he paused. "Why aren't you?"

Harry shrugged. "You weren't there," he blurted out.

It was quiet again, and Harry looked back up at the moon as if he were looking straight at Malfoy. But he couldn't, and Malfoy wouldn't, so he continued to stare at the moon.

"Why did you do it?" Malfoy asked quietly, after another long while.

"Do what?"

"All of it," Malfoy said. He was looking down at his hands. It sounded as if he might've been rehearsing this confrontation for a while now, and perhaps he had been. "That rose, and your cloak, and healing my injuries—" he stopped. "I just… I don't get it."

Harry struggled to find the perfect words to say, but it was just something that he couldn't explain with words. Of course, he had tried to explain it to himself before, but it wouldn't even come out then. He had done those things because it had seemed right at the time. He had done those things because it had been Malfoy. At least, Harry hoped he had. He couldn't be absolutely sure.

"I did it because I wanted to," Harry confessed softly.

Malfoy didn't say anything for a few minutes. His hands began to shake in his lap, and Harry instinctively took one of them and squeezed it. At the movement, Malfoy stared at him in shock, his eyes flashing with that unknown emotion again. He rarely looked anyone in the eye anymore, Harry realised. He missed it. It had been the shock value that he'd loved the most.

"I didn't want you to see me like that," Malfoy announced suddenly. "I didn't want you to think that I wasn't strong enough to deal with my mistakes. I am, you know."

"I know," Harry murmured.

"I'm not a crybaby," Malfoy went on. "I rarely cry, in fact. Even though you happen to be there every time I do."

"I know," Harry said again. He did. He knew many others who cried more than Malfoy; Ron cried at least once a month, and Hermione twice that. Harry himself had cried almost every night for the first few months after the war. It was nothing to be ashamed of.

Malfoy turned away again, and Harry mourned the loss of contact. He wanted to swim in those milky grey eyes forever, wanted to look at them and have them look at him. He leaned forward.

"Malfoy?"

The other boy turned towards him again, but his eyes were downcast. It wasn't enough. Harry put a finger under Malfoy's chin and raised it upwards so that Malfoy's face was level to his. He couldn't stand to see those eyes bloodshot; that skin pale and hollow, lips quivering. And suddenly, he realised that he absolutely _hated_ seeing Malfoy cry all of those times. He never wanted to see Malfoy cry again.

With a developed sense of courage, Harry's thumb brushed over Malfoy's mouth to still it. Then his eyes flicked up towards Malfoy's, which were watching him slow and steady, albeit unfocused, and then went back down at his lips. Harry wanted those eyes on him. He wanted the shock. Needed it. Without thinking, he tilted his head slightly and closed his eyes, his lips ghosting over Malfoy's with only slight hesitancy.

"Don't cry," he breathed.

Malfoy didn't. His shaking hands were suddenly placed on the nape of Harry's neck, tugging him forward and bringing them together with a soft crash. And then Malfoy was kissing him feverishly, urgently, as if it was the only thing that was keeping him intact. And it was. Harry had a niggling feeling that it was the only thing keeping himself intact as well. It was an odd revelation, but Harry was kissing Malfoy back because it felt right. Harry was kissing him back because it was Malfoy. Of this he was absolutely sure.

When Malfoy eventually pulled away from him, Harry could see his silver eyes glowing like the moon and the sun and stars combined, brilliant and bright and alive, and he couldn't think of anything more beautiful than that. It was impossible. Even though Harry had never even knew that he wanted this before, he knew that it would be all he wanted hereafter. He couldn't stop. He'd never stop. He had to make sure that Malfoy would look at him like _this _forever. No more crying.

"Happy Christmas," Malfoy said, still a bit flushed from the kiss. Harry's breath caught at the expression on his face.

"Happy Christmas to you too, Draco," he whispered back, and the blond looked him straight in the eye, his gaze unwavering and strong.

And that was the first time Harry had ever seen Draco Malfoy smile.


End file.
